“Ah, I see,” Takshak said. “You’re thinking of how those two killed your father, and matching that up with your phenomenal knowledge of karmic law and suchlike. Well now, let me be frank—there’s no need to play the saint with me. Those men destroyed your family, and I am no village cretin begging for your fire.” His eyes narrowed. “That mendicant who hung himself in your gardens—tell me, was he your lover?”

She nodded—why bother to lie to a dying man?

“A wanderer with a begging bowl?” Takshak cried, more mystified than outraged. “To sink so low after loving me?”

“Pundalik was pure,” Ishvari replied serenely. “He gave me what you never...

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